an act of war. Speaking of which…”
The two brothers stood, and they bowed low.
“We should see how things have progressed. I’m sure it went peacefully, of course. It’s not like the elves want conflict.”
“Of course,” Ulrich said with a wink as they left.
Ingram caught Madelyn whispering to her giant mercenary, Torgar, and then she too stood.
“There will be no compromise made until we know how this day ends,” she said, curtseying. “And if what Ulrich says is true, I would like to be in the safety of my home before the streets turn dangerous.”
With her gone, that left just Ingram and his two lords. He looked to them both, then shook his head.
“What just happened?” he asked.
“To put it mildly,” Egar said, leaning back in his chair and chuckling, “we’re fucked.”
“There’s still a chance this might blow over,” Yor cautioned.
“It won’t,” insisted Egar.
Ingram shook his head. He’d had enough.
“Both of you, send out riders. Every soldier you can muster, I want brought into the city. Claim it’s for quelling the riots.”
“Are you sure there are riots?” asked Yor.
In answer Ingram led them from the room and to the front doors of his mansion. From the steps, they overlooked the city. Already smoke billowed from two different districts.
“Yes,” he said. “I’m sure.”
Laryssa hated the ugly layout of the city. There was nothing beautiful to it, nothing natural. They built their straight roads, their square box homes, and stamped out every bit of life that might grow in the cracks. It was only if she climbed to the rooftops could she even see the stars, all because of their torches and lamps. More than ever she yearned for the forest, especially as her company descended the hill Lord Ingram’s mansion was built upon. Below, the city seemed angry and vile. Every pair of eyes that looked upon them burned with hatred.
They were only five, all armed, including Laryssa. She feared no ruffian or drunkard striking her. Humans were only frightening if in great numbers, and even then the people so far had only flung stones from hiding. Such cowardice. Laryssa preferred the company of wild dogs to the people of Angelport. At least they would bare their teeth and fight a creature that frightened them.
“Perhaps we should stay here in the mansion until things calm down,” Graeven suggested, but Laryssa would have none of it.
“The man is a swine dressed in silk,” she said. “I will not stay under his roof, nor will I fear his streets. We must see what fate has befallen our friends.”
At first things seemed somewhat calm, the people of the city no more hostile than normal. If not for a hint of distant smoke blotting the sky, she might have thought the two Blackwater brothers lying. It was only when they reached the first gate that they saw the results of a riot. Loud screams and chanting came from down the street, and the gathered guards peered underneath their helmets with frightened eyes. A group of lowborn humans were there with them, whether watching or waiting, she didn’t know.
“You picked a bad time,” one of the guards said to Laryssa as they pushed through the commoners. “I’d turn back, milady.”
“What is going on?” Graeven asked.
“What’s it look like? Something sparked a riot up north, and it’s spreading like wildfire. Seen at least two squads head down that way, and they ain’t come back. We’ve confined it at the gates, so far as I know. You go in there with them, though, you’re likely to get hit.”
“Let them try,” Sildur said. He drew his sword, which only deepened the guard’s frown.
“Naked steel ain’t a good idea. You don’t want this crowd smelling blood, sir. Trust me on that. Go back to milord Ingram’s mansion where you’ll be safe.”
“We cannot stand idly by while a mob rips apart our brethren,” Laryssa said. “Let us through.”
“And may Celestia watch over us all,” Graeven said to himself as the soldiers parted, and they entered the strangely empty streets. It seemed those not intent on burning or breaking were in hiding. With Sildur leading the way, they traveled toward their home. A boy ran past them, blood dripping from his nose. They passed a two-story building, it’s windows billowing smoke. Broken doors marred several shops. A group of three ran toward them, saw their approach, and cut down an alley. All three held torches. Laryssa could only wonder at the twisted logic of humans. Furious at their situation, and at the elves, why then turn it on their own homes, their shops and walls? Still, it was better that than on her own kind, as far as she was concerned.
“Perhaps we were wrong to seek a way to reason with men such as these,” Graeven said, and coming from him, it was a harsh condemnation. The ambassador seemed to be one of the few Quellan elves not eager for war. As they walked past a slumped guard, his face beaten into a pulp, she felt certain even Graeven’s hope for peace would reach its end.
The shouting grew louder, and then from another alley came a large gang. Only a few wielded weapons, the others lifting their fists or waving torches. Laryssa’s hand fell to the ornate dagger belted to her waist as all around her the rest reached for their weapons.
“Murderers!” one shouted, and many others took up the chant. “Heathens! Go home! Go home!”
There were about fifteen of them, not enough to inspire any real bravery. When the five elves neared, the humans gave way, splitting so they were on either side. They cursed and hollered, turning their faces red, but she ignored their threats. They were mere products of ignorance and poverty. What could they say that would possibly mean anything to her? The rest of the elves lifted their weapons, easily keeping them at bay.
“We’ve still a ways to go,” Graeven said as they made it past, the group still lingering like a shadow.
“Move, and show no fear,” Laryssa said.
Come the next block, they encountered the true mob, and for the first time, Laryssa felt fear. At least a hundred of them gathered together, the air above them thick with the smoke of torches. They cheered and shouted as seven or eight tore down the door to a home. She couldn’t begin to guess the reason why, though by what they cried, she worried one of her friends was hiding inside. Those near the edge first saw Laryssa and her escort, but word spread within seconds. The mob turned toward them, and they screamed for blood.
“No fear,” Laryssa repeated.
“Don’t stop moving, no matter what,” Sildur ordered.
The mob surrounded them, making way at first so they might reach its very center. Once totally enclosed, the elves lost in a cacophony of hate and screams, the first dared strike. He wielded no weapon, just a young man throwing a punch. Sildur ducked it with ease, then with practiced precision, cut off the man’s fingers. As the blood spilled, and the severed digits fell to the street, the rest howled with near mindless fury.
“Cut through!” Laryssa cried in elvish.
The surprise of their attack was the only thing that kept the elves alive. They lunged at the front group, tearing through them with ease, for they lacked weapons and armor. Her two bodyguards protected their rear, their long swords moving with dizzying speed. Laryssa ran, for as the bodies began to fall, and shrieks of pain filled the air, most of the mob fled in fear. There were many, however, who wanted blood, and they rushed on with mad abandon. Graeven cut a path through a group of five, slaughtering three of them, then turned back to Laryssa, ushering her on. Before she could follow, the gap closed, over thirty angry men rushing at her, thinking her helpless.
With her dagger, she could kill any lone human, but they were not alone. She stabbed anyway, killing the first to near, but the rest pressed on. Fists crashed against her face and chest. With no other recourse she fled the other direction. It, too, was blocked. Amid a pile of corpses, Sildur battled back to back with one of her bodyguards. The numbers seemed endless, and as she watched, a man impaled himself on Sildur’s blade. With his weapon immobilized, Sildur was helpless before the many others who leapt atop him.
Beside her she saw an alley, and she ran, wishing she could banish from her mind the sight of Sildur’s face crunching inward as a heavy human smashed it with his heel. Three men moved to stop her, but she twirled, her dress a startling display of emeralds and blood. With them unable to match her speed, she cut the throat of the one closest, slipped past the other two, and fled as fast as her legs could carry her.
The sound of the mob faded behind her, and if any chased, they could not keep up. Not caring which direction
